Death's Master Sponsors a Flame
by Magi Silverwolf
Summary: Harry's always had a weakness for flowers...and yeah, he's kind of an idiot, too. (HC fill)


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** If Harry seems a bit _crazy_ , there's a reason for that. I used the trope of the Insane Immortal. There are also a _lot_ of references to the meaning of various plants.

 **Project Note:** This was previously posted in _Stories That Go Nowhere_ , due to time constraints. It is reposted on its own after being reviewed and formatting updated. There is no plans to ever change it from how it was submitted to the competition it was created for or continue it beyond what is presented here. If your review is to critique it, you are wasting both of our time. Also, _Hunger Games_ is not a fandom that I am in. I only wrote this because my team needed it covered.

 **Competition/Challenge Block** : (Houses Competition)  
 **House** : Hufflepuff  
 **Category** : Hunger Games  
 **Prompts** : "How did I get here?"; Unexpected Circumstances  
 **Word Count** : 1679 (Story Only); xx (Story & Epigraph)

-= LP =-  
Death's Master Sponsors a Flame  
-= LP =-  
 _Yet if hope has flown away_  
 _In a night, or in a day,_  
 _In a vision, or in none,_  
 _Is it therefore the less gone?_  
 _All that we see or seem_  
 _Is but a dream within a dream._  
– Edgar Allen Poe, "A Dream Within a Dream"  
-= LP =-

Harry hated the Games.

Over the centuries, he had become desensitized to most of what his title entailed for him. Death really was merely a part of life, and nearly everyone succumbed to it eventually. He had taken so many that their faces blurred. A child was the same as the most elderly man.

But the Games…they made him _sick_.

It was death without purpose.

It was monstrous.

He hated it, and every year they happened without fail.

Children made into murderers—it was so much like what Dumbledore did all those years ago that Harry just couldn't stand them.

Seventy-three games, and not once did he see any way of stopping the pointless bloodbath.

Then they Reaped the wrong flower and the arrow screamed.

Harry could only laugh.

He knew the difference between being dragged into an arena and marching in with a high-held head.

For the first time, Harry signed on as a sponsor for a Game. He already knew which Tribute he wanted but he let the mentors have their attempts to woo his favor. If anyone noticed that he shared many of those drinks with a specific mentor, they probably dismissed it as just two drunks congregating at the bar. Amid the vapid idiots who cared for nothing more than entertainment, District 12's sole mentor was a balm to the ageless wizard. Haymitch didn't understand, not at first. He was too blinded by drink and guilt.

Then his girl lost her temper.

God, if Harry hadn't already liked the kid, he would have just from that. To top it all off with a bow was just freaking beautiful. Even having to calm Haymitch afterwards couldn't deaden the spark growing within Harry. Maybe—just maybe, mind—Katniss Everdeen would be exactly what ended this madness.

Oh, what wonders that a single spark could alight!

-= LP =-

"How _did_ I get here?"

Katniss dragged her gaze away from the sparkling skyline. Everyone's voice was unfamiliar, so yet another didn't bother her. The mocking tone was close to the one Haymitch used but it lacked the drunken slur and bitterness. The man lounging on the settee was most definitely _not_ the victor. He was also not as confused as his words made it seem. All she could tell about him in the shadows of the room was that he was small and lithe. Maybe he was another tribute?

"Am I supposed to answer that?"

"Oh, no, but I was getting bored sitting in silence. It seemed a good way to start this conversation."

"As good as any I suppose," Katniss agreed. "What conversation is this?"

"Manners, darling," the man scolded with restrained laughter. Katniss rolled her eyes at the familiar rebuke. Effie had been overly insistent on that same subject. If the chaperone wasn't harping on manners, then it was a reminder to _smile_. The man gave a flash of teeth. "I'm going to be your new best friend, Katniss Everdeen. Name's Harry."

"I'm not good at the whole friends thing, Harry."

"It's a skill that anyone can learn with a bit of effort, _Catnip_."

"How do you know that name?"

"I know lots of things, probably more than _certain people_ would like. I know it's more than I would like."

"I don't like—"

"What? _This_? That's why I'm here, sweet pea."

"Why are you here?"

"Oh, petal, I'm here because you are."

"Thanks. That tells me nothing."

"You're welcome, my blossom."

"You have an obsession with flowers, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," Harry answered with another flashing grin. "It's quite extensive—almost as extensive as President Snow's obsession with those enhanced roses of his." Harry's face twisted into a grimace of disgust. "Thankfully, mine is not because I'm an idiot." He shook his head as he gave a huffy laugh. "Well, I do suppose sentiment is its own type of idiocy, isn't it?"

"Are you a victor then?"

"In a way, I could claim that title, yes." There was more to that statement. She could feel it. She could _taste_ it. It was the breaking of her heart when she heard Effie call out Prim's name; it was deliberately burnt bread soaked with rain and mud. The echo of every moment that had broken or made her was in his words. "I didn't compete in your Games, and no one truly wins a war, but once upon a time, I did fight and as impossible as it seemed, I did survive."

"You survived a war? You don't even look old enough to not stand for the Reaping."

"See? You're learning more about friendship already, mint-leaf."

"I'm not soothing," she countered. Harry barked out a laugh, as if her words had startled it from him. It was an honest laugh, so unlike Effie's twitter and Haymitch's snickers. He settled back into his slouch again, still smiling. No one had smiled at her like that since her father died.

"You are more soothing than you can possibly understand, lemon balm." He watched her as if measuring an already familiar weight. Like a rabbit sensing a fox's gaze, she stilled. Her heart pounded like a mockingjay's wings. "It is a bitter potion to swallow, being a hero. Everyone will make their attempt to use you—the good guys, the bad guys, it's really difficult to tell which is which after a while. No matter what you do, people will die—good people who don't deserve it. A hero does what they must with what they have—and most of the time, they end up surviving, alone but still alive."

"I'm not a hero."

"No, you're not," Harry agreed as if her dissent was about something like the weather. "Heroes are not born, Katniss. They are made. They are normal people who have been broken a thousand times—they shatter like glass and their enemies drink their blood like it's a fine wine. Talent does not matter; money does not matter; even luck does not matter. A hero is just a person who is willing to—"

Harry cut himself off before shoving himself off the couch. He stalked over to the window beside her. For the first time, she could see him clearly. His face was unlined like the teen she had accused of him of being, but despite his eyes being the same vibrant color of summer foliage, they were too old and weary to be alive at all. Whoever he was, Harry was a contradiction in himself.

"To what?" she whispered when it became obvious that he wasn't going to continue on his own. He shifted his gaze to her. There was a shimmer to the air around him. She could feel it trembling against her skin like rippling water. Every word Harry had spoken tonight had the lilt of knowledge to it. He had experienced all of it, and there was probably more than what had been mentioned.

"To become Death, Katniss," Harry answered. "To become the destroyer of worlds."

"And who would want to do that?"

"Why, those who would save it, sweet atropa."

"Poison does fit me better."

"Only because no one expects the circumstances of their end." Harry tilted his head to the side, examining her anew. His nose wrinkled like Prim's did when she was thinking hard about something. It smoothed after a moment. "You don't see it, do you? How much he loves you—how much he is willing to risk for just the chance of saving you. Oh, for God and Magic, he would be willing to burn the world for you." Harry's cheek twitched as if another one of his grins had attempted to break the surface of his sea of sorrow. "You're not any mere bog-plant. You're a Lily."

"You're mad, aren't you?"

"Such things don't matter much after the first century, my petal," he replied. "They gave me a name as well, you know. 'The Boy-Who-Lived'. I wonder if they knew what would be my eventual fate. I have mastered every aspect of death, except how to do it myself. Can't quite manage that part, though not from lack of trying. But you! 'The Girl on Fire'! No one sees your real flames, do they? They see the ice queen, the stoic and violent brat who can't reign in her temper. Did you know that I was watching that day? As you've noticed, I have a weakness for flowers." He paused and watched her face for a moment. "But then so do you."

"That was not the best day ever."

"But it was," he denied. "We never expect the circumstances of the end. Fate's a bitch, but a canny one, and Death, as much as I love her, is a whore for any willing to give her what she wants. She feasts upon life while Fate becomes drunk on free will. Both are partial to hummingbird traps—destruction, then lying hope, and destruction again. Just as chaos is a ladder, hope is a torch. A single torch can set a whole world ablaze."

"Why are you here, Harry? For real?"

"I wanted to meet the Tributes I will be sponsoring."

"You're a sponsor? Really?"

"Only because you're a Tribute, potato of my heart." Harry gave her a flash of a grin, the sorrowful weight melting away into the shadowed corners of his demeanor. "Try not to get mashed tomorrow. Do that for me and I'll arrange for you to set the world on fire."

"What about Peeta?"

"You drive a hard bargain, carrot." He waved his hands through the air to cut off her protest. "No! Don't twist my arm any more. I can't stand the pain. It will be tricky, but Peeta's good at burning things, too, I guess."

"You're crazy. There's no way they'd let two people win."

"You will find that sometimes insanity is the only appropriate response to the reality of one's circumstance." Harry wiggled his fingers at her as he faded from sight. The green of his eyes was the last to disappear. Like a dream upon waking, he was gone.

-= LP =-  
An Ending  
-= LP =-


End file.
